


Araignée du Soir

by radstickers



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, and the lowest of lowkey references to heat cycles, the lowest of lowkey reference to mating cycles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 01:30:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13377258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radstickers/pseuds/radstickers
Summary: Lena Oxton knows it's dangerous, but the idea of making love to a beautiful Spider is well worth the potentially fatal risk.





	Araignée du Soir

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes I write really tender slow burn stuff, sometimes I watch a tarantula sex video and then write 8 pages of smut

She knew it was dangerous. From the very  _ start _ she knew that such a thing could easily be her own demise. After all, it was nearly her  _ namesake, _ and certainly advertised by the tattoo across that oft exposed back. 

The intricacies of lovemaking, of ritual and courtship were not  _ unknown _ to Lena Oxton, as she quietly considered her options. A long, healthy life sat on one end of the equation. The other--a painful, slow,  _ violent _ death. 

Still. 

The scent  _ calls _ to her, as she moves through the passages of the chateau, agonizingly aware of each long corridor, of each shadowy corner, wondering where the  _ spider _ lay in wait for prey. It may be mating season, but this Widow was hardly  _ longing _ for company. And Lena knew that.

Still…

She wonders if it’s the desire for sex that draws her in. She has nothing  _ biologically _ to offer--nothing to fertilize and  _ procreate, _ nothing that, to a Widow lurking in the depths of her heat would find of use. 

_ Still. _

There’s a shift to her left and Lena  _ jumps, _ her nerves raw, and expecting to see the glint of gold in the shadows. Yet nothing of note, nothing beyond the soft  _ flap _ of a curtain tugged by the breeze. 

She would need to control her terror...if she hopes to survive this encounter.

Her life would depend on decisiveness. On speed and accuracy. On proving herself more useful to a Spider alive than dead. 

Deeper and yet deeper, Lena makes her way into the labyrinth of the chateau, praying her first glimpse of the Widow would not be her last. 

The light of the full moon offers a bit of peace, illuminating Lena’s steps and keeping her from whipping her head around at each shadow. 

Then…

_ There. _

It’s the only room that’s  _ open, _ flooded with darkness, and just beyond...Lena can see those golden eyes gleaming.

She braces her weight, that brief  _ glimpse _ her only warning before that weight crashes into her own. 

Full red lips curl into a  _ snarl, _ revealing sharp teeth beyond. There’s a knife in one of her hands, a body tight with muscle and full  _ wrath _ slamming into Lena’s with the intent to  _ kill. _

She only has a moment to react, a moment to catch those wrists in her own and brace her weight against the Spider’s. 

They freeze like this, Lena’s heart in her throat as she stares into those  _ furious _ eyes, seeing the desire to  _ kill _ writ so  _ plainly _ there. She is an  _ intruder, _ having followed a cobra into her burrow and now... _ now… _

Yet her hold upon the Spider’s wrists seems to put them at a stalemate. She does not relax, but she does not seek to overpower Lena  _ further. _ Her hands curl into fists, the tendons flexing against Lena’s palms as she grips them for dear life.

She’s  _ sweating, _ holding back that weight, gazing into eyes that stare  _ furiously _ into her own. Her breath comes in terrified little  _ pants, _ carried out of her throat on tiny  _ whimpers _ of fear.

But the first stage is over. If the Widow wasn’t receptive to mating...Lena Oxton would be  _ dead _ by now. 

She doesn’t know how long to wait, if she should wait to see that furious visage relax. After a moment it becomes clear she will not, and Lena feels a jolt of adrenaline when that snarl tugs anew, a low growl in the Widow’s throat as her wrists start to pull against Lena’s hands. 

There  _ is _ no moving back now. The only way out...is through. 

Carefully, oh  _ so _ carefully, Lena leans in, pressing her breasts to the Spider’s. Perhaps it might read as seductive, but Lena only means it to  _ soothe.  _ With both hands in use trying to prevent her own death, the only thing that remains in her arsenal is her  _ torso. _ And she hopes that by offering such a vulnerable part of herself...the Spider will understand her intent is to  _ pleasure, _ not to take.

Those breasts are soft against her own, hidden beneath a thin layer of silk and nothing more. The Spider is  _ eerily _ still, making the motion slightly awkward. Lena’s eyes clench shut to block out the fury on that face just inches from her own.

_ Please….please understand. _

The Widow’s exhales a long held breath. And those fangs...slowly disappear behind plush lips, the sneer fading. 

Confidence blossoms. And after so long having worried that this initial stage would result in her death...Lena can’t help a small, shaky sigh of relief. Her eyes flutter open, seeing the bared teeth are now put away, at least…

Her eyes lift, catching the glint of a downturned knife. It seems directionless now, held in a hand now longer white knuckled around the handle. 

Slowly...smoothly...her hand slides up that silken wrist, past the webbing tattooed on her left hand to the knife held aloft in that fist. With only the slightest brush of her fingers to that palm do those fingers slacken, yielding the weapon to Lena’s possession. 

Lena sets it down with one hand slowly. Fortunately the shift does not bring about any further aggression from the Spider. 

Lena, again, sighs her relief. 

Another press of her torso to the Widow’s, and this time the reaction is measurably  _ positive.  _ That body begins to relax, the solid muscle that had been so clenched, ready to pounce, to prey, to  _ assassinate _ \--softening. Lena bears her weight gladly, fingers sliding back along that wrist to bring it to lay gently upon her shoulder. 

It lays, wrist lax, fingers splayed softly...

Her other hand only rests in Lena’s grasp, posing no threat and no fight. 

Golden eyes dilate. Full lips part, this time an  _ open _ expression. 

Taking her free hand, Lena slides her hand down that side, feeling cool skin beneath a silk nightgown. That body moves slightly against her hand, and a faint but unmistakable little  _ moan  _ escapes those full red lips. 

Her hand slides up a bit more, to feel those breasts she had brushed earlier with her own. Over the silk she cups one, enjoying the weight in her hand. With a brief glance back to that face, to assure that the motion isn’t unwelcome, Lena slides her hand back, smoothing away and up that muscular but  _ silken _ back, to feel her spine free from the cloth. 

Her skin is cool, but not cold. She can feel the muscles beneath her fingers, the lift of that spine, those shoulder blades…

Deep beyond she can feel the slow breaths, the slow heartbeat...

_ I thought they said their hearts never beat…? _

A rush of exhilaration takes Lena in that moment, a  _ thrill _ that she’s not only survived, but she’s  _ touching _ this deadly woman, that the deadly woman is  _ allowing _ such a touch….even  _ submitting _ to it. When her fingers near a sensitive spot on that back, she feels the woman move, clearly desiring  _ more. _ Her fingers smooth over the spot, a soft smile taking her lips when she hears a low confirming  _ moan. _

She’s supporting the Widow’s weight with her own body and one hand, so the other carefully moves down to slide along the Spider’s hip, sweeping the silk up, letting her hand carefully smooth back behind along that perfect, well muscled bottom. 

The Spider  _ sighs,  _ taking her weight in a small step towards Lena. Another sign of submission. 

Gentle fingers move between those thighs, and Lena’s cheeks turn dark when she feels how  _ wet _ she is. 

“...you poor thing,” she half whispers. “No wonder you’re so angry…”

The Widow exhales a harsh breath, the edge of another moan caught in that throat. Lena slides her fingers, now well lubricated from the Spider’s sex up slightly, sweeping along her swollen clit.

That head lifts, red lips parting against half a gasp, a needy  _ whine _ following. 

Carefully she shifts the woman’s weight, to free her other hand. The Spider leans upon her with no resistance, that head coming down upon her shoulder. Lena turns her head, nuzzling against that ear and carefully takes that earlobe between her lips to nibble  _ softly. _

Another moan. This one more  _ frantic _ . She feels the harsh sigh through her jacket, warming her skin beneath. 

Her free hand moves, gently grasping the silk nightgown and drawing it upwards, slowly drawing it off of her hips. Her fingers follow the dip in her spine, her lower back, slowly pushing away from the woman to ease the rest of the garment up and off the rest of the way. Her fingers find purchase once more on those wrists, and the Spider leans into it, letting herself be  _ caught. _

She looks so  _ vulnerable _ now, bathed in the moonlight, bare and  _ relaxed. _ Those golden eyes are half lidded and fully dilated, watching Lena not in threat but idle, aching desire. Lena wonders how long she’s sat here in frustrated  _ need,  _ with a body desperate for mating and no mate to be found. 

Standing is tiring, however, and Lena needs more leverage to be able to bring the  _ relief _ she wants to. Beyond them, in the darkness, Lena knows there’s a bed--the edge of it catches the light of the moon. 

She experiments. Even now she’s well aware that this woman could be  _ deadly,  _ and incorrect assumptions-- _ arrogance-- _ could be her downfall. So carefully does she move, to take a small step forward.

Her dominance is rewarded with submission--the Widow yields herself, giving ground and stepping back in kind. 

Lena can’t help but feel  _ giddy _ by this point, smiling and leaning into that neck gently to kiss her gratitude. She receives a low  _ mewl _ when her mouth finds a soft spot on that neck, using it to distract the Spider, to make the half dance backwards to the bed smooth and natural. 

Slowly she presses the Spider until she feels her go no further, seeing the silken duvet pressed against now bare thighs. Slowly she gathers those wrists into one hand, her other hand pressing that hip until the woman sits upon the bed. 

At first it’s all a one for one motion--Lena would press and the Spider would move in kind. But once upon the bed, the Spider releases the tension in her back, falling and arching her chest up and scooting back with a moan. 

Those hands reposition over her head, golden eyes peering  _ softly _ up at Lena. 

Lena takes the invitation, her fingers curling around those crossed wrists. She bows herself over the Widow, carefully taking those full lips into a kiss. 

The kiss she receives in reply is needy and  _ desperate,  _ achingly passionate. That torso arches against her own, bare breasts pressed to Lena’s jacket…

She draws back, experimenting. That body  _ writhes _ beneath her, breasts arched out in  _ supplication. _

All this from the woman that nearly killed her minutes before, that came with such  _ force. _ Now she writhes on the bed as though she were half Lena’s size…

The Spider pulls on the hand holding her wrists down, but with no intention of tugging loose. Lena wonders if this is one of the rare moments that the Widow lets herself feel powerless. 

Dark lashes blink up at Lena, hooded over those glossy, golden eyes. A needy moan escapes her lips. 

Lena smoothes a hand down that side, feeling her arch into the touch with a groan. Her hand cups along the side of a breast, but when her thumb brushes carelessly over a nipple, those teeth bare, a sharp  _ hiss. _

_ Oh they must be so sensitive… _

Her hand returns to gently cup the skin rather than tease it, lowering her mouth to offer a gentle apologetic kiss, brushing her lips gingerly around that areola…

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, feeling her blood pressure calm when that chest arches up towards her mouth, a signal that the temporary pain will not be punished. “You’re awful sore, aren’t you?”

Her answer is a low whine, and Lena looks up to see that head tossed up and back, jaw flexed open as she pants. 

Her hand slides around the other breast, cupping,  _ caressing, _ ever aware now that those nipples are  _ sore _ from her heat, and now being careful that her touch only brings pleasure.

It is not for self preservation. In part, perhaps, but Lena’s primary desire is to bring  _ pleasure _ \--and despite estrus induced  _ soreness, _ she knows a warm mouth and a velvet tongue feel  _ good. _

She clasps her mouth gently over the other nipple, now fully committing to it. With their current state, she knows better than to suck, to  _ tease, _ and instead laves gently over the skin. 

The taste is nearly as good as the  _ sound, _ the sudden gasping  _ moan, _ the way those wrists pull at her the single hold Lena maintains. 

She takes her time, shifting to the other. Her skin is so  _ smooth _ beneath her lips and tongue, the sensation  _ addicting, _ She laves her tongue over those nipples, feeling them rise slightly in her mouth.

The noises that spill from the Spider’s lips suddenly grown in pitch. From pleasure to annoyance, to  _ demanding, _ Lena feels that chest arch, the way those thighs squeeze together. A hand pulls harder against the hold Lena has on it, and she almost half  _ thrashes  _ beneath Lena.

Without fulling intending to, Lena realizes she’s been  _ teasing _ the spider. She takes a moment to watch those legs press together, the tortured, strangled little moans escaping from that throat, the way those brows set over those eyes…

She wants to pleasure. But…. _ teasing... _ it’s just too good to pass up.

Again does she bow, giving herself into drawing the rough of her tongue over one nipple at a time. Her fingers curl a bit more tightly around those wrists, feeling the Spider writhe beneath her. She listens to those denied,  _ demanding _ moans, the halting breaths, knowing the pleasure is just shy of what she  _ needs. _

And, judging by the way those thighs squeeze against one another, far from  _ where _ she needs it too.

Lena shifts her weight, better situating her hand to grasp those wrists, moving to position herself over the Spider. Those lashes lift, eyes of liquid  _ gold _ lazily studying her face. It’s far different from the fury she had been eyed with earlier. The pure  _ wrath… _

Now she looks  _ tame. _ Tame and  _ needy,  _ the way those eyes roll back as Lena slides a hand down that torso, feeling that silken soft skin, making her way, slowly, from between those breasts, dipping into that navel and resting just above the small patch of curls that hide away the Spider’s sex. 

The Widow exhales sharply, a breathy sound of  _ denial _ when those fingers fail to move  _ all _ the way, to stroke that clit Lena can see is  _ swollen _ with need. Those hips buck, demanding,  _ desperate, _ and Lena almost finds herself giving in, letting her fingers pet over the curls.

But she doesn’t give in yet. Much to the Spider’s dismay, Lena sweeps her hand back up, enjoying the growl of  _ frustration, _ the way it ends in a helpless little whimper. She knows the submission is ephemeral, but for now it’s  _ real _ and the Spider is yielding herself to this teasing. To what Lena can do for her.

She spent so much time planning this, fearing for her own life and worrying that such a reckless endeavour would result in a horrible death that now--to be here, pinning this muscular,  _ powerful _ Spider down and making her, in effect, her  _ possession, _ she doesn’t want to rush. 

It is by far the most satisfaction she’s ever gotten from any of her daring little stunts. 

The moon still bathes her would-be lover, would-be  _ killer, _ catching along those dark lashes and dancing in dark locks. The hills and valleys of such a body cast such  _ enticing _ shadows, and the scent of female wetness is all but driving Lena to succumb then and there. 

_ Patience, Lena… _

The groans of frustration have faded to more submissive, pleading whimpers, that muscular body lifting  _ desperately _ to feel more of Lena’s touch.

_ “Je t'en supplie…” _ comes that breathy voice, deep and silky and yet rough with need. All of the thrashing, the moaning, the crying has yielded nothing like what the Widow must  _ need, _ so now she begs Lena  _ verbally _ . 

_ “Je t'en prie…” _

“Shhh….”

Lena bows her head to take those begging lips in a soothing kiss, massaging gently along that lower stomach. The woman lifts, greedily, hungrily, taking the kiss and furthering her plea with it. Those lips wrap softly around Lena’s bottom one, suckling lightly. 

It’s  _ Lena’s _ turn to sigh, her own resolve turning to mush at the tender demand. That gasping voice lifts, as Lena’s hand moves lower, sweeping past her mound and  _ lower. _

If she was wet before, she’s  _ soaked _ now. Lena spends a few moments just  _ feeling, _ letting her fingers part the folds and delve along the very sensitive inner lining of that sex, just outside of her. Then, when she thinks that body will rise up beneath her, when that voice nearly turns to a  _ shout, _ her fingers slide up, moving carefully yet confidently towards her swollen clit. 

The smallest movement from her fingers triggers the longest, most  _ desperate _ cry from those lips, an aching  _ sob _ begging to be satiated. Those hips lift but so  _ good _ is the relief, the potential relief, that Lena finds the Widow has little self control to start a synergized rhythm. She’s so utterly worked up that all she can do is stiffen, to cry for more and to  _ tremble. _

_ Oh gods above was this worth it. _

Lena turns her hand slightly, letting her middle and ring finger slide into that body. She may be  _ tight, _ but there’s no resistance as her fingers slide in. Two fingers are easily accommodated, the Spider’s body squeezing them as her sex convulses with pleasure at being  _ filled. _

Another cry escapes those lips, those lips wrapped in an  _ ‘o’ _ shape of surprise and need. After the few moments of shock, she finally begins to thrust  _ back _ rather than lay there in trembling pleasure. 

It’s a fantasy come true, that’s for damn sure, to have a woman so beautiful, so desperate, fucking herself on Lena’s fingers. She lifts her thumb to give the woman a bit of friction to work with, releasing her wrists and using that hand now to press back against one of those inner thighs to keep her spread.

The woman rises, supported on her arms behind her. That back arches and those hips drive down further onto those fingers.

_ “Ai!” _

The sound is  _ sharp, _ the desperation loud. And Lena knows that if she leaves her fingers--and particularly, her  _ thumb _ in position, the Spider will ride herself to orgasm within a few short minutes.

And despite that the thought of it alone is enough that Lena feels her own sex grow wet at the thought, she doesn’t want it to be that way.

Hasty masturbation may be what the woman has been doing to survive such a demanding heat cycle. And Lena wants to give her relief a touch more... _ profound. _

She pulls out her fingers. The resulting noise of pure  _ denial _ rattles through the room, that chest lifting and head turning back with a frustrated cry. Those thighs shift, the Spider  _ writhing. _

It is...by far...the most  _ powerful _ Lena’s ever felt. 

She rests her hands upon those hips to soothe, to  _ reassure _ that-- _ yes,  _ she is going to finish what she started. Wide golden eyes peer at her, delirious and  _ needy, _ those full red lips parted around desperate huffs for  _ more. _

Lena’s head bows, slowly bringing her mouth over that navel. Small, tender little kisses does she pepper down upon that smooth, perfect skin, enjoying the taste she gets when her tongue peeks her lips upon the contact.

She pushes one of the Widow’s thighs back, keeping her from squirming her way into an early orgasm. 

“Hush love,” she whispers, a bit more  _ firmly, _ when that body thrashes in nearly a fit. She feels her own body grow warm at the sight, even  _ moreso _ when the Spider follows such a command. 

She settles back, her weight on her wrists, trying to regulate her breathing at Lena’s command. The demanding growls fall back to submissive  _ whimpers, _ and Lena nearly loses it when that thigh brushes imploringly against her arm.

She receives a heady groan when her fingers gently part those folds with her fingers, grinning as she gazes up into those eyes. She holds the Spider on a silk thread--ironic, so  _ very _ ironic.

Lena draws her tongue along her own lips, nearly laughing when the Widow’s response is a heavy swallow. 

She bows, dragging the rough of her tongue teasingly over that swollen clit. The Spider nearly  _ screams _ at the contact, mouth left open and gaping and gasping. Lena works her way down, index and middle fingers keeping those folds held open as her tongue gently slides just outside her entrance. 

She doesn’t want this to be a hasty orgasm. Instead, she teases, offering so little and making the Widow  _ beg. _

_ “Je t'en prie!”  _ she nearly  _ screams _ when Lena draws back again.

_ “Laisse-moi jouir!” _

_ Oh so  _ **_demanding._ **

Lena can’t help but glance up at that, biting her lip around a grin. When those thighs lift to thrash, Lena takes both hands to hold them down and fastens her mouth over the Spider’s clit. 

It does not take long. 

_ “Ahhhh!” _

A few short sucks and the draw of her tongue against the underside and it’s  _ over,  _ the Widow screaming her pleasure to the ceiling before she collapses limply to the bed.

Lena leans over her, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand while licking her lips. The spider looks  _ dazed _ now, limp and drawn out in her pleasure. 

Lena leans down, peppering soft kisses against that face. She knows now is probably the best time to  _ retreat,  _ while the pleasure is high, and the desire to rest is great. Give her fifteen minutes and the Spider would likely be back to her normal, predatory self. 

Yet she’s so  _ vulnerable, _ laying there, flush with pleasure, wet from lovemaking and weak from their joining. And Lena can’t leave her this way. 

She’s still breathing hard as Lena slowly lays down beside her, drawing that head to her chest and massaging gently into her scalp. 

“There now,” she soothes. “That feels better, doesn’t it?”

Every last muscle in the Spider’s body is lax now, those golden eyes still peering up at Lena but through thick, heavy lashes. 

“I imagine you’ll sleep real good, won’tcha, love?”

Those eyes blink slow. And Lena laughs softly, smoothing the pads of her fingers over that cheek. 

She lays like that for a moment, listening to those slow breaths, the relief  _ clear _ in every fiber of the Spider’s being. 

But she’s made a mess, and Lena doesn’t want her to fall asleep feeling sticky…

Carefully she moves, kissing into that temple as she rises, leaving for just a small moment to dart into the nearby bathroom. She wets a washcloth in warm water and returns, kneeling gently between those thighs and wiping her clean. The Widow moans, a touch  _ pathetically, _ but it’s clear she appreciates the gesture. 

From there, Lena returns with that soft silken nightgown, lifting that body up enough to pull it over her head, to re-clothe her. 

_ “Merci…”  _ comes that low voice, a hand softly wrapping around the back of Lena’s neck after the gown is situated back on her body. 

Lena lays back down against her better senses, especially when that hand holds on--nearly  _ pleading. _

“It’s alright, love...I won’t leave.”

She does, however, tuck the Spider beneath the silken sheets, to warm her. Smoothly she reaches down, to feel along that back, the smooth skin…

Lena carefully slides in behind the Spider, feeling her curl slightly as the girl wraps herself around the Widow. 

She leaves early that morning, when the light is just barely breaking the horizon. She tucks the silk sheets over the Spider, bowing for one last kiss upon that forehead.

She feels it, however, as she makes her way out of the chateau. A glimpse back and she sees her.

The Widow stands out on the balcony, watching her. She’s bathed in the morning light, head lifting a bit when Lena meets her eyes. 

She brings her hand to her mouth, eyes soft as she kisses her palm, blowing it to Lena.

No aggression. Lena feels it deeply. She can’t help a little grin in reply, straightening her back. 

“I’ll come back,” she says, feeling her heart leap when the Widow gives a small nod of approval.

 


End file.
